Saturday drops her had between her knees, groaning.

"None, at the moment. Which means I gotta work the plan I already have." Which, if she pulls it off, will make opportunities. Maybe. Hopefully. "'S a good plan, dangit," she mutters, to bolster herself.

"Work the plan," she repeats, like a mantra. "Do the job, go home." And don't get distracted by your very personal desire to garrotte Planker with his own intestines.